


The Least I Can Do is Fight You - Like Families Do

by Hawkbringer



Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Abrupt Ending, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Cuddling & Snuggling, Families of Choice, Family, Family Feels, Hugs, Kissing, Light Angst, M/M, Making Up, Men Crying, Sappy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:55:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249596
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hawkbringer/pseuds/Hawkbringer
Summary: "You want a family, I want a family - the least I can do is fight you like one!"Pitch and Jack have a long-overdue conversation, and discover they both want to be part of a family, more than anything. But their standard rivalry rules apply, so they decide to have a good fight first, before any hugs or smiles may take place.
Relationships: Jack Frost/Pitch Black
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46





	The Least I Can Do is Fight You - Like Families Do

**Author's Note:**

> Storyboards in the extras of the ROTG DVD/blu-ray reveal that the Antarctica fight was originally a sober conversation between Pitch and Jack, legs dangling off the edge of an ice shelf. I felt like they needed to have that - they get around to it eventually. Set some years after the movie, no book-verse.

Jack and Pitch run into each other one day, watching over the same group of children playing outside in the hot Meditarranean summer sun. Jack's ice-powers barely work here, and Pitch's shadows are equally muted, so they turn to their adjacent roles of Fun and Fear. After several long hours of silently dancing around each by trying to tease both fear and fun at once from the children they're watching over, Jack and Pitch get to have that long-overdue conversation about the things they've seen humans do, from the shadows, from the sky, when they think they can't be seen. Turns out the thing they both miss, both want, more than anything else, is that experience of family. 

"All of it," Jack sighs, hands waving vaguely and eyes fixed on the horizon like he's trying to recreate a memory. "The fights, the misunderstandings, the long talks, and the making up and smiles after..."

At that, Pitch glances sideways at him and says, "I could do that." 

"What, hug me with tears in your eyes and a smile on your face?" He sounds utterly unconvinced, utterly certain it would never happen. Pitch can imagine the scene only too well and has to turn away from Jack for a moment. 

Facing deliberately forward with Jack at his side, he says, "If we have a good fight first. If I could..." He takes a deep, shaky breath and focuses forward stoically even as Jack turns his whole torso to face him, bringing one leg up and hugging it, staring at Pitch intently. "Say things to hurt you, first. Things I didn't really mean." He braves a single glance at Jack, who looks particularly stupid and confused with his open mouth and wrinkled brow. 

Jack closes his mouth as he registers Pitch's gaze and his eyes look bigger that way, wide with /wonder/ at the proposal, and he gulps before he agrees out loud. 

"If it was kinda like a game, like, to see if you could make me cry?" His gaze flicks up to Pitch's face and Pitch has to wonder when he'd focused on Jack's eyes so singularly. "What if it was a /competition/?" His mouth curls slightly at the corners, eyes starting to tighten to match. "What if I tried to make you cry, too? And the game would be over when we both won, cuz that's when we'd need the hug the most?" 

"Hug?" Pitch nearly squeaks. "When did I-- I said nothing about a /hug/!" 

Jack elbows him in the ribs and Pitch exaggeratedly rubs at the spot, feigning injury with a mock glare. Jack merely splits his face with a grin. "Ohhhh, but you want it. C'mon, fess up. It's only me here and if you're gonna shout terrible things at me and watch me cry, you gotta admit you want to hug me afterwards." 

Pitch ground his teeth, but it was largely just for show. He was grateful his complexion never changed, that he wouldn't turn red and give himself away. "Nnrrghh," he muttered, getting to his feet. "We'll see when we get to that point, shall we?" It was his way of capitulating, Jack recognized, and got to his own feet with an easy grin. 

"Alrighty then," he groaned, bouncing on his toes once he shoved off the ground. "Hit me with your best shot!" He spread his arms wide and that grin didn't falter and Pitch immediately chastized him for it. 

"Do you take /nothing/ seriously?" He ripped into him, calling Jack everything from immature to tasteless and Jack simply guffawed through all of it. Increasingly irritated, Pitch dipped into more personal territory. "I /hate/ you, nothing good ever happens when I'm around you!" 

Jack shook his head. "Naww, you just haven't stuck around long enough for the /good/ karma to take effect," he pointed out cheerfully. 

"/What/ 'good karma'?" Pitch mocked with air quotes, starting to circle Jack and hiss slightly under his breath. "You /reject/ me, you /attack/ me, you side with my enemies... Even now, you're hardly /listening/ to me!" 

Jack's face goes a little more serious at that. "Oh, I /am/ listening." 

"No, you're not!" Pitch snarls back, wishing there were shadows nearby for him to hide in, to lurk in two dimensions on a wall, to /escape/. He had no choice but to stare Jack in the face as he said these things, to risk his immensely powerful wrath. "You're not hearing what I'm not saying!" 

He realizes a moment too late that there is /no/ filter between his mind and his mouth at that moment, but since he has been denied the power to hide, he decides to power through it, and narrows his eyes to erase the surprise working to widen them.

"Well, I'm not a /mind-reader/!" Jack shot back, brow lowered, but smile still in place, relishing the opportunity to re-enact those too-human fight scenes he'd seen take place so many times over the centuries. "You'll have to tell me with words!" 

"I would have given you /everything!/" Pitch shouted, immediately snapping his mouth shut and glancing about for any eavesdroppers to suddenly begin guffawing and fall out of a bush or something. None did. 

Jack quietly asked, "Everything?" 

"Everything I /had/. Which wasn't very much, mind you," he felt constrained to point out. "I had only /just/ escaped confinement I'd endured for /hundreds/ of years, Jack, I... I risked it /all/ to come and find you. And when you rejected me..." His hands settled over his elbows almost without his given permission. He glanced sideways at a very interesting rock. 

"Oh, you can't imagine how that hurt," he settled on saying, discarding such phrases as 'it broke me' and 'i lost everything' because those weren't true. He hadn't lost /everything/. He'd retained his /rage./ And he'd always been broken. 

"/Pitch/, I--" There was something approaching genuine sorrow in his tone as Jack stepped closer with a hand outstretched, about to place it on Pitch's elbow. 

"/Don't/ tell me you're /sorry,/" Pitch snapped, smacking Jack's hand away and shuffling to turn his shoulder to the younger man. Jack's expression darkened and Pitch was almost glad to see it. 

"Well, I wasn't sorry at the /time/!" Jack pointed out with a scoff, rolling his eyes. "You damn well threw me into a ravine and broke my staff and I couldn't fly! I bet you've no idea how much /that/ hurt!" 

"Good!" Pitch shouted, distress beginning to prickle at the corners of his eyes. "I /wanted/ to hurt you!" 

"Yeah, I /figured/ you did! The way you /looked/ at me... And then you tried to /kill/ me later, with that giant scythe thing of yours..." 

"Oh, that," Pitch replied dully, actually feelilng a twinge of guilt at the memory. "I was... not in my right mind at the time." 

"Oh my god, are you apologizing /now/? In the middle of our /fight/? /Pitch/, man, have some /backbone/, will ya?" 

His lips peeled back at Jack's flippant tone and he rounded on the boy, hands unclenching to grasp at Jack's shoulders. It felt so /good/ to touch him. He was so /achingly/ cold. 

"I wanted to /hurt/ you, I never wanted you /dead/! I was going to poison you, turn you against them, bring you round to /my/ way of thinking. I haven't had any real allies in /ages/, Jack! No visitors, no friends. I've been so /alone/..." He's horrified to find that the prickles of discomfort at the corners of his eyes have spread to his nose and he sucks in a few breaths to keep his nose clean. It's starting to run. His vision is starting to swim. "I've been so /lonely/, Jack, I just... Wanted you to..." 

He sighs brokenly, the shuddering catching at his throat and he realizes as he blinks and his cheeks are suddenly wet that he has lost the battle and he's really fallen. And only Jack is there to pick him back up. 

".../help/ me," he finishes the thought in a very small voice but Jack takes it as a seperate plea, and wraps his arms around him and shuffles him backwards against a thin, ragged tree. 

Pitch hits the bark and feels some of his power return, the shadows in the cracks in its bark just enough to soothe him a little, and he gratefully sinks down to sit at its base. Against all logic, Jack follows him down, and winds up with his legs parted around Pitch's hips, kneeling as close to him as he can, hands on Pitch's cheeks, thumbs wiping away his tears. 

Pitch can do nothing but whine and huff and sniffle and stare in /wonder/ at the smile of faint sadness on Jack's face. It almost looks like he's /missed this/, whatever /this/ is. Holding a loved one's face after they've worn themself down to nothing. Does Jack see him as his little sister right now? 

With an extra-loud whine, Pitch, not quite trusting his voice, reaches up with both hands and drags Jack's face to his. 

The real wonder of the moment as Jack's nose presses into his cheek is that Jack's hands haven't moved, that there's no tension in his body, in his thighs folded up against Pitch's sides. He's /willing/ and Pitch huffs a laugh against Jack's still-dry cheek. 

"Looks like you won this round," he tells him, coughing and smacking his lips against the tacky dryness of his tongue, and he can feel Jack's lips move against his skin when Jack smiles in return. 

"Well, hey," he points out in a much quieter voice, angling his head slightly to make sure his lips touch Pitch's face as they move, "There's always next time." 

"There'll be a next time?" Pitch asks in an equally-quiet voice, fingers pushing through the short hairs at the base of Jack's neck. 

"Absolutely, Pitch," he murumured with nothing but sincerity in his voice, /then nuzzled at the corner of his brow/. "You want a family, I want a family. The /least/ I can do is fight with you like one." 

"Mmm," Pitch hummed at the way Jack's hands mimicked his, pushing into his hair at the back of his head. "So then... what's the /most/?" he wanted to know. He /hears/ Jack's swallow, hears the tiny bubbles pop in his throat. 

"I'd take you home and... cook dinner with you," he admits in a voice that wavers. "I'd find you a ridiculous pink apron with some sarcastic saying on it and I'd make you wear it every time you forgot to. I'd sit outside on the roof with you and watch the stars come out. And I'd go inside and curl up in your lap in front of a huge fire in the fireplace under a big, fluffy blanket. And we'd drink wine and laugh and talk about nothing and when we went to bed, we'd say goodnight with our arms still wrapped around each other." 

Pitch doesn't have the words to express precisely how that mental image makes him feel, so he does the best he can. He slides his hands agressively down the winter spirit's back, and makes a high-pitched whine as he clutches Jack as close to his chest as he can in fully corporeal form. If Jack were sitting in the dark, he'd be able to /drown/ Jack in himself, slide /all over/ his skin and hide him and his brightness away from the /entire/ world... 

Just for a little while. For as long as Jack would consent to be held. He doesn't have the power to keep him against his will anymore. Jack is too powerful, too beloved. And the Guardians have reduced Pitch to a very weak thing. 

Only as he relaxes his death grip does he realize Jack has started crying. He doesn't realize how worried his own always-ashen face looks as he puts one hand up to thumb away Jack's tears, leaving the other at his waist. "What... Why?" 

Jack whines high in his throat and ducks his face against Pitch's shoulder, curling in to free his mouth and talk between their tightly-pressed bodies. "Holy /God/, I want that so much, Pitch. I want to swat at your shoulder and kiss you and taste your awful cooking - or your amazing cooking, I have no /idea/ how you cook - and I want to try doing it /myself/ and probably burn half the house down and have to rebuild it and ---" He cuts himself off with another high whine. "/God/, I want it so much, Pitch! I want it...so... much...." His crying intensifies, words falling away into sobs and Pitch can feel his shoulder going cold and wet and sticking to his skin. There's only one thing he can possibly say. 

"We'll do it, Jack," he promises out of the blue, and the more he thinks about candle-lit rooms and stars at night and fires smelling of applewood, the more he wants to try it out, himself. He can't remember ever being the domestic type /before/... If there even /was/ a before, for him... But Jack wants it and it doesn't sound unpleasant and if it means he'll be inches away from him whenever Pitch wants, whenever they're sleeping together... 

The image of the pair of them curled under a gigantic flannel blanket lying on the floor, too close to a large fire, Jack keeping him cool in their own little microclimate beneath the afghan... /That/ gets to him. That, and the idea of pulling Jack close and having the teen laugh and press close and hum like he's in love and will /stay stay stay/... /That/ gets to him. He's not sure either of them needs to eat /or/ cook, but if Jack wants to? Pitch won't be getting in the way. 

"You can /get/ me that apron and I'll wear it and I'll grumble about it and I'll cook you pancakes in the morning and pour far too much syrup on them and..." He has no idea where /that/ image came from, but it was clearly the right thing to say as Jack picks his sopping wet face up off Pitch's shoulder and grins at him inches from his eyes and all Pitch wants is a /real/ make-up gesture in that moment he says, "Okay?" 

And it's childish and small and there's nothing but wonder in his angular, sharp-edged face and Jack's face does something even /more/ delightful and he blinks a few times to clear his eyes and he puts their foreheads together and their noses and breathes into Pitch's air. 

"'S a deal," he murmurs, just as he kisses Pitch's nose. 

Pitch's heart leaps into his throat and just as he opens his mouth to ask if Jack /meant/ it like that, Jack has peeled their skins apart and is currently laughing like he's more grateful than he has words for and he's trying to unbend his knees and stand up, and Pitch decides he's not going to let him. 

He grabs Jack's waist and shoves the teen to the hard-packed ground, following immediately after and laying down beside him. Jack chuckles, eyes still bright and red and puffy. 

"Well! Isn't /this/ romantic, you ol'..." He doesn't get to finish the childish insult because Pitch puts out his free hand and brushes the hair away from Jack's forehead. 

Then Pitch rolls forward with his weight on his trapped arm and slots their lips together. 

Jack doesn't move and Pitch retreats within a second anyway, not giving Jack time to really reciprocate. 

"Heh-h-hey," Jack splutters as Pitch licks his lips contemplatively. "Do that again!" 

"What?" Pitch can't believe he heard that right. Jack doesn't look him in the eyes but shuffles closer and manages to press their thighs together. Pitch's eyes nearly roll back in his head at his shocking cold, at the /realness/ of the sensation. 

"Kiss me 'gain," Jack mutters, bringing their mouths closer, eyes downcast and focused solely on Pitch's lips. 

He quirks them into half a smile. "Do it /yourself/," he goads, because Jack clearly wants to. 

"Okay, I /will/," he snarks back, his own lips smirking, and has trouble fitting their mouths together when their teeth keep making an appearance. It's hard to kiss when both participants are grinning. Jack smooches the corner of Pitch's mouth as his lips thin and spread with his grin. He tries to think of something that'll make Pitch stop smiling and start humming again. 

Experimentally, he wriggles closer to Pitch and accidentally rolls him onto his back. A tiny laugh escapes him and he opens his eyes. "Aha, whoops!" he chirps cheerfully. Pitch's eyes narrow and his grin is slipping away and Jack counts that as a partial win. 

Then Pitch shoots his arms out and tugs Jack fully on top of him, spreading his thighs to make room for Jack's legs between them. Jack scoots himself forward to hover over Pitch's face, pretending he was taller than his elder.

Pitch squints up at him but can't get /really/ mad when the winter spirit's slight weight is pressing down against his hipbones, cool radiating throughout his whole body from that central point of contact between them. It's a truly singular sensation and he presses down with hands on Jack's backside to get more of it. 

Jack laughs once, slightly startled, the bulk of his groin pressing down against Pitch's navel. Out of some instinct, Jack drags a hand up Pitch's leg, encouraging him to curl it over Jack's waist. With one hand on Pitch's knee and one on Pitch's shoulder, Jack slowly dips his head to press his lips to the Boogeyman's.

**Author's Note:**

> Written mid 2016. Un-beta'd, so slashes still exist instead of italics. You'll have to write the porn-sequel yourself! Leave a comment if you want to help me with HTML editing, or if I should add some tags. Thank the Great Quarantine that this was posted at all!


End file.
